Snapshot
by Sailor Star Dust 1
Summary: In my time, there'll be no one else


**Snapshot**

SailorStarDust1

May-June 2016

Author's Notes: Right when I thought I was out of the fanfic writing game, I'm pulled back in! I'll just be very inconsistent with posting one-shots that pop up. Please continue enjoying my fics, regardless! BB/The Boss is my forever OTP next to VQuiet (though I'm still a filthy BB multishipper), so not writing them would just feel wrong.

As usual, proofreading errors are my own. Hopefully nothing too bad from this head cold rattled brain~

This is a little "just because" gift for my AO3 bud Vakarian17. Hope you enjoy this!

Onto the fic: I was debating on using the (generally accepted?) fanon for The Boss's real name, Joyce. But the way Strangelove says "Joy" so lovingly in her final tape...A part of me thinks it could've been The Boss's actual name, not just her old Codename.

Since I'm posting on June 6th: Happy Birthday, Ocelot~! (Please, Adamska, don't be horrified at the possibilities of what John and your mother may or may not have done! T_T)

* * *

It all began for him in 1950.

They had met through his family, in fact. Jack was an only child, although it was obvious—especially to his parents—how interested he was in the military. With much goodnatured ribbing, the blame had been partially placed on his uncles and cousins that served, yet they helpfully managed to arrange a meeting with _her_.

3 PM at Jack's parents modest house, on a late, sweltering, June day for iced tea.

There was no reason an unorthodox approach to his future education couldn't be considered. Jack would be eighteen in three more years, and if he was _that_ interested, why not? To be fair, there was the very real, nerve-wracking, possibility of John's participation in the newly erupted Korean War. Yet, if she was at his side every step of the way, guiding and training their boy...It would be alright. Her valiant prowess in World War II hadn't gone unnoticed, after all.

The sun hit across her shoulders before she had knocked twice at their door. It was firm, in complete control.

"I'll get it!"

His mother answered, the brunette a bundle of energy. When was the last time the Doe residence had such exciting news, in fact? It was hard to recall. The two women exchanged warm smiles and polite embraces while stepping inside together. John could overhear his mother excitedly explaining what an incredible opportunity this was, while _she_ had simply listened on with the utmost patience.

Slight boredom welled up from the waiting. Dad was working that Saturday; but he promised John he'd do his best to leave the factory early by explaining there was an appointment that day. It wasn't a lie, at any rate.

John, clad in a plain t-shirt and dark blue denim jeans, gradually picked himself up from his seat in the living room, strolling towards the hallway entrance. The slice of chocolate cake he began greedily scarfing down could wait. Nobody would notice the missing piece from the dessert meant for their guest, right? There was still plenty of tea for everyone!

Her blonde hair loosely flowing downwards, the high-heeled twenty-eight year old woman was wearing a pure white short-sleeved blouse and medium-length green skirt. Honestly a rather feminine choice for such an alleged hardened warrior of the battlefield. She turned at the sound of approaching footsteps while John's beaming mother stood behind their guest in silence.

Their eyes met, and locked.

His heart nearly stopped as he remembered to take in a breath. _She_ was the legendary Boss? This woman was absolutely gorgeous.

"Pleasure to meet you, Jack." Hm. Hints of a British accent in her speech. Maybe her upbringing? Her blue-gray eyes warmly sparkled as she offered a hand in greeting, smile light. "My name is Joy."

* * *

Under The Boss's guidance, their participation together in the Korean War had been a great success. From Intel gathering to prisoner extractions, the pair had their hands full, a buddy approach consisting of Jack on reconnaissance and The Boss as their muscle. The art of stealth. Infiltration.

Any teasing—playful or outright hazing—towards John by the older soldiers in their unit quickly ceased, naturally due to The Boss intervening. There was no time for such nonsense during war, and she'd be damned if anybody would dare harass the young man. Honestly, in part on a personal level, as she had quickly taken to Jack, extremely appreciative of his help.

John, for his part, would always obediently listen to his boss, their lives constantly on the line. Petulant behavior was _never_ worth the risk. No more war games from his fond, hazy, memories of playtime with the neighborhood children in his backyard. This was the real, anxiety-inducing, heart-thudding, deal.

Together, there was nothing they couldn't accomplish. Time had marched on, the war eventually drawing to a close, its bloody sacrifices many.

The Boss had naturally arranged counseling for John soon afterward, once they returned together to the States. Regardless of his young age, PTSD was _not_ something to be taken lightly amongst soldiers…Yet he was seemingly fine.

Thus, they began living together in a small apartment close to CIA Headquarters in Langley. One never knew when their services by "the suits"—as John had called them—were needed, after all.

From ages fifteen to eighteen—their much-appreciated service aside—Joy's educational focus for John would be historical readings, strength training, cardio, proper gun usage. It was only the day after his eighteenth birthday, in fact, that The Boss focused on the nitty-gritty of weaponry, and their gradual development of CQC. Close Quarters Combat.

Bits and pieces of his education would naturally blur and merge together throughout the years, yet Joy did what she could—the right thing—to help Jack stay emotionally and physically well-rounded. Despite the horrors he'd read about or those they'd unfortunately witness side by side on the field.

At age nineteen, the pull towards serving his country once more had occurred. Little did John realize he'd be a part of various military organizations throughout his twenties. But this was the least he could do, offering supervision during the highly sensitive testing within the Marshall Islands.

It was nothing short of a miracle that the worst situation for John was being rendered infertile. So many of his friends and fellow soldiers, dropping dead from illness or eventually cancer. John had never given much thought to children, considering his hopes of a long-lasting military career, so the new "diagnosis" was fine by him.

As long as John and Joy would return to each other, regardless of what else occurred within that great, wide, world, his life as it was stood perfectly fine.

* * *

One morning in particular, two weeks after his return, there was an aura of gloom about the thirty-two year old blonde. Her half-consumed mug of coffee—adorably decorated in a pattern of dog and cat paw prints; it had been a birthday gift from Jack—was already forgotten.

Certainly, Joy was generally serious-minded and focused, but this seemed different. Her blue-gray gaze stared towards something unknown, unseen. Away from her half-read newspaper.

Gunfire and shouting. Her own pained screams in the midst of labor—an on the fly variation of a C-section the only available option. Happy tears streaming down her cheeks, tenderly holding her product of blooming love on a battlefield for the first and only time. Despite the fact they were in Normandy, she had given him the Russian name Adamska. A good, strong, name for an equally strong child, considering the unusual circumstances of his birth.

And what became of _him_ , let alone her baby boy? How many years had it last been, since they caught up on old times, whispered sweet nothings?

Just where were they both…?

She mumbled, a tired edge to her voice: "I pray he's safe out there..."

Jack absentmindedly scratched the beginnings of a beard. He didn't dare ask what was troubling her by pretending he didn't hear, busying himself with the historical account he was otherwise engrossed in. For all her strict training but occasional soft side, she was a very private person. Even towards Jack.

Understandably so. John could be relatively outgoing, maybe a little hyper given his age, but he preferred to keep to himself at the end of the day.

Suddenly remembering her coffee, the blonde snapped out of her trance. She kept her silence, offering a quiet smile towards Jack while bringing the mug to her lips. Noticing her out of the corner of his eyes, all he could do was smile in turn before returning to his book.

It was a relief to see Joy crack a smile. Downer moods just didn't suit his beloved mentor.

Beloved, eh? Not a strange thought in and of itself, but…He certainly had particular feelings around her, as a young adult. What had started as a slight infatuation, something of a crush, was certainly turning into something different.

John couldn't help that as he'd fall asleep each night, he'd happily think about all the interesting conversations or hard work they did that day. Or notice the little things like the way she'd do her hair (that green bandana she'd occasional wear was pretty cute)—or even what her favorite foods were (nearly anything, but onions would understandably give her trouble).

Joy certainly cared deeply for Jack as well, although she'd always maintain an air of professionalism. They had his family to keep in touch with, for one thing. Not that Jack had the balls to admit his feelings—countless hypothetical scenarios of strong unfavorable reactions alone were terrifying enough that he'd keep his feelings to himself.

Being treated as her son—The Boss had never mentioned any children, at least—and her student, was fine by him. There was always work to be done, in sharpening his skills for the next great war, whenever that would occur. Hopefully nothing terribly devastating.

The more years Jack had spent under The Boss's guidance, the more his private yearnings had grown. To just stay by _her_ side. Always.

* * *

It was already early June, 1959. The past ten years whizzing by as quickly as they did...was almost surreal.

The drenched in sweat twenty-five year old was completely _exhausted_ from that particular day's worth of training, all too happily collapsing atop their bed upon entering the room.

Today was strength training. Tomorrow? How Not To Break. It was ugly stuff—he'd always need a full day to recover from her relentless blows and bruises afterward, The Boss literally beating the lessons sprinkled with CQC techniques into Jack—but it had to be done, if he wanted to become a proper soldier. Someday as good as _her_ in the field. Maybe even better than her.

Entering the room with light steps, the blonde wasn't at all surprised to see him unceremoniously sprawled about on their shared bed. His old room had been converted to a guest room, on the off chance that company—his parents on occasion, or some old war buddies of hers—would visit.

"Jack." She held back laughter, mouth covered with a hand before slowly slipping out of her workout pants and sweatband. Only her sports bra and panties remained as she stretched out, feeling in tip-top shape after their intense workout. "At least shower before you rest."

Her nose crinkled in slight disgust, bluntly adding: "You stink!"

How many more times would they go through the same old tired routine? Although she knew the answer, one she didn't want to think about. A situation where she wasn't given much say.

His face buried within their cushy pillows, a grunt alongside an absentminded hand waving her off was the only acknowledgment Joy received.

"Jack."

Another low grunt.

Freely rolling her eyes, The Boss effortlessly drug the 200-pound muscular man out of bed—despite his abruptly wide-awake protests to _not_ be pulled by his ear. Naturally, she made damn sure to tug at his earlobe, _hard_.

"Okay, I'm awake!" John scrambled away from her grasp with a yelp, practically a tangle of limbs while madly flailing away.

"About time." Her brows furrowed as she stood with arms crossed, patiently waiting for him to undress.

And undress he did, eager to get the damn shower over with so he could have some rest and... Funny, he didn't notice his lower back burning from pain until he sat to remove his tennis shoes. Mentally shrugging the irritant off, he winced while pulling his tank top off. His muscles were still twitching despite the—large, considering his growing appetite—recovery meal he had recently consumed.

"Are you alright? Come here."

She offered a hand. He quietly accepted, as they made their way to the bathroom together. His mind...was embarrassingly hazy, in the recollections of when exactly their cohabiting occurred.

He vaguely recalled a half-drunken confession on New Year's Eve, at age twenty—a year away from the legal drinking age wasn't that big of a deal to him, since getting liquored up just wasn't his thing.

Whether it was the liquid courage from their shared bottle of champagne or the spectacular view of fireworks from their balcony, the excited atmosphere to bring in another New Year together resulted in Jack lightly kissing Joy's lips.

The real surprise came when she returned the gesture, going so far as to deepen the tender kiss. Slowly breaking apart, fingers intertwined, they felt no shame in their wordless confession towards one another.

Things...had happened, gradually, little by little in that new year. Which was fine with them both. Their bouts of romance were always on Joy's terms, seldom, but appreciated whenever they'd occur. Given their dispositions towards the battlefield, sex in and of itself...just wasn't at the forefront of their minds.

Yet the companionship, the nights where he would hold her tight, whether it was due to her comforting presence, or the night terrors—sometimes occasional flashbacks—to Korea...Joy was always right by his side. Was it merely a delusion, his occasional yet steadily ongoing secret hopes of them staying like this, together?

The cool water from the shower-head broke Jack out of his thoughts. He could mentally process all the serious crap later—that is, if he'd still feel the need to, after a good night's rest.

"Jack?"

He tiredly blinked, eyes focusing on her. She was washing her hair, fingers tangled against the blonde locks, smiling. He had always wanted to ask The Boss about that scar across her chest, but given her intimidating nature…Oh well. It wasn't his concern. Best to keep private things private.

"You know...", he offered while lathering up his chest, briefly shaking his head to get the water out of his eyes.

Even if John would get close to another person, somebody besides Joy… Man, woman, that was irrelevant. There would never be anybody else in his life like her. Never.

"Because of you, I'll probably always have a thing for blondes."

She only laughed lightly in reply, intentionally _not_ making a joke about them separating. Soon enough, it would be all too real.

"You missed a spot." Joy offered after a moment, helping Jack rinse off his beard as her eyebrow quirked. "Ever consider trimming? It's out of control."

Jack chuckled as their eyes slowly met. He _liked_ his rugged look just fine. His mouth grew dry upon the realization of her soft lips pressing against his. Sighing into the kiss, he was a little taken aback at Joy's aggressively pushing him against the shower wall, their kisses passionately deepening. Something must've been on her mind, as they'd always take their intimacy slow, gentle.

But Jack wouldn't question it, the happiness in his heart outweighing any fleeting concerns.

* * *

The answer came to him silently on Friday morning, that following week. June 12th, 1959. He had awoken sprawled about, his half-asleep brain registering he hadn't felt that familiar abrupt shove back towards his own side of the bed, nor the comforting warmth of arms wrapping around his waist.

Was she off in the kitchen getting the morning started, with coffee in hand and breakfast on the table? Good excuse to put his stealth exercise training to use, sneaking up behind her for a surprise hug...Before she'd calmly note his presence with a "Good morning, Jack" without ever turning around, spoiling his fun.

Scanning the perimeter of their bedroom led to nothing. Silence. With a lazy yawn, John stretched, throwing on some sweat pants above his boxers to leave some sense of modesty—just in case company was over.

The dead silence—the feeling an of otherwise empty apartment—especially hit hard as he casually made his way to kitchen.

An absent-minded scratch to his bare chest was cut short, his hand left hovering mid-air.

The Boss wasn't here.

There was no reason to panic—unexpected meetings with the local suits would be an occasional occurrence for Joy—but for some reason, Jack couldn't shake off his sudden feeling of dread.

The smell of fresh coffee, alongside sizzling bacon and eggs with toast suddenly filled his senses. The meal awaited him at their table, recently made. Still warm. Whatever business she was attending to, Joy in her overall kindness, made sure to look after him. As usual.

A note on the kitchen table...? He slowly made his way towards the paper, too afraid to pick it up. As if it would crumble like dust in his hand. Instead, he opted to read from the distance, eyes scanning the contents.

 _Jack:_

 _Urgent business came up. This decision was completely out of my hands, but it's something only I can accomplish. Please understand._

 _Look after yourself. I know you'll do just fine._

 _We'll meet again._

 _\- Joy_

Any appetite Jack had earlier quickly diminished, his uneaten breakfast essentially forgotten.

Legs shakily working on autopilot, brain in a daze, he managed to reach one of the living room lounge chairs before nearly collapsing into it.

His head was spinning, so many unexplainable feelings, threats of either rising up in anger or breaking down in grief. He wasn't even sure which.

No. He just had to stay in control, keep calm. As she had taught him.

His watery eyes managed to focus on the ashtray, lighter, and box of cigars on the end table next to him. While smoking was an occasional vice, it appeared The Boss wouldn't need them wherever she was going.

And where _was_ she going...?

Ten years together.

Ten years—and this was it— _this_ was how things ended between them?

 _Why?_

It was completely incomprehensible to him. What kind of assignment was so secretive that not even Jack could accompany The Boss? They had been a _team_ for so long. So many things that Jack still _wanted_ Boss to teach him...About the battlefield, about each other...

Trembling hands held the flickering lighter in place, a fresh cigar lit up without a second thought.

A hacking cough escaped his lips, eyes watering. Still...

If it was something that belonged to Joy, he'd just have to _l_ _earn_ to enjoy it, still processing her farewell. Still reeling from her abruptly abandoning him.

 _We'll meet again_...Her final farewell. They exchanged tender "good nights" just last night, before drifting off as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

And as of now, glancing at the clock, their final verbal exchange was seven hours and twenty-three seconds ago.

What could he do with himself now? Continuing his military career was the obvious answer—Joy had once introduced him to an old war buddy of hers, a man now in the CIA. His name was David Oh—perhaps they could properly touch base in the coming weekend, and connect?

Hopefully he wouldn't be terribly busy—in his off time, he was apparently raising an orphaned little girl. How kind of him.

Everything else could wait. For now, John would allow himself the luxury of zoning out, heart heavy. His scattered state of mind, put simply, was an absolute mess.

He must've been in thought for longer than he realized, as his cigar was nearly finished. Awkwardly putting it out in the ashtray, he didn't hesitate to light up a fresh one.

Jack calmly exhaled the cigar smoke amidst hacking coughs which gradually lessened.

* * *

He awakened with a start to the sound of a piercing, single, gunshot.

Good eye quickly opening, he glanced around his locked office for signs of forced entry, palming his chest for gushing blood... Nothing. He was safe. Nobody had yet, anyway, caught wind of his— _their_ —ultimate goals.

Thank Christ.

It was simply the painful memory of _her_ death lingering on in whatever remained of his heart, and mind. Bloodied white Star of Bethlehem petals scattering across the lonely field on that September afternoon.

Straightening to adjust his trench-coat, the stale smell of cigar smoke—for once—irritating his nose, John cracked open a window, then returned to his desk. Absentmindedly rubbing his eyepatch, he began mentally processing what else had to be done at FOXHOUND.

Outer Heaven had gone swimmingly since Diamond Dogs had secretly folded into it, back in '92 under Ahab's guidance. Yet his concern was the newest recruit _they_ insisted on sending over. Due to arrive sometime today. A twenty-three year-old recruit. David. One of his "sons".

He'd have no qualms about personally offering—a very rare act for Big Boss—some training to David, otherwise allowing a still-irritable these days Kaz whip the boy into shape. Maybe John would eventually feel some begrudging respect towards the kid. But he'd be damned if there would be any feelings of love, in any capacity. Never again. There would still be respect, but he was old; he was _done_ with feeling love. Towards _her_ , Eva, Kaz, Adam...

Eva was off in parts unknown, fretting over her three sons' safety as they entered into lives full of war. Kaz would never let go of his hurt and rage; Snake's alleged personal betrayals towards them both, their dream. And Adam? He never wanted to be second-best in John's life. Let alone second-best towards his own mother.

Jack didn't deserve _her_ love, let alone from anyone else. Not anymore.

She had been dead for thirty-one years now. Let her stay in the past, as she should. He and Ahab, they had their present and future to ensure.

Besides, what did personal feelings matter anymore? Ever since the day she had died, not only it had killed him spiritually, but…

But…

The shame had been so great, he couldn't bring himself to contact his family after that. Never again.

Were any of them still alive, he wondered? Some relatives, at least? Ultimately, it didn't matter. His parents or family learning of his fate, being proclaimed a "hero" at his murdering the traitorous Boss…

He wouldn't allow himself to have even _more_ guilt, hurt, and anger, weighing his conscience down.

Despite the occasional nagging hurt welling within, the least he could do—the right thing, he supposed, although who was he to speak of morality—was honor her memory by bringing about the world _she_ envisioned: True freedom for soldiers. Let Zero's organizations—whatever had become of the man himself these days—follow their own path, a path he'd continue the bloody crusades against. History, in the end, would show the victor.

The flames of war long ago consumed him. There was no turning back, not as the battlefield called to his soul. And this was in spite of John's three years of playing The Patriots by acting the bureaucrat—which just wasn't _him_ , when all was said and done.

Constant warfare, he had realized, after waking up in '84, was the only logical—really—step once The Patriots were crushed. He angrily rubbed at his good eye, failing to realize the gathering wetness sooner.

Joy's likely disappointment in Jack be damned.

In the end, war truly was the only way to survive and change alongside the times.


End file.
